Give - It's Best Way To Feel Good

Sentinel Santa

December 20, 1989|By Bob Morris Of The Sentinel Staff

A story in the paper the other day said most kids stop believing in Santa Claus by the time they are 8.

That's why I am playing out this holiday season for all it is worth. I figure it's the last Christmas around our house for the Santa myth to flourish. It's reality time on the home front. All the signs are there.

My wife was emptying the dirty clothes hamper the other morning when Dash walked in and tapped her on the shoulder.

''I want you to tell me something and I want you to tell me the truth,'' he said. ''Do you promise to tell me the truth?''

He is 7 and possesses the insistence of the Grand Inquisitor.

''Of course I will tell you the truth,'' said Debbie.

''Okay, this is what I want to know: Is there really such a thing as . . . as . . . ''

My wife just knew they were heading for a showdown at the Santa Claus corral.

''There is no such thing as elves anywhere, Dad,'' said Bo, purely exasperated.

''So,'' I looked him in the eyes, ''does that mean there's no such thing as Santa Claus either?''

I could see him thinking it over, considering the options.

''There IS such a thing as Santa Claus,'' he said finally, ''but you have to send him money to help out.''

With that he walked off. And I basked in the warm, fatherly glow of knowing I had helped raise a son who knows how to hedge his bets.

It's amazing, really, that children today persist in believing in Santa Claus for as long as they do. They seem so much wiser, so much more worldly than I was at their age. But I suppose that's how every generation of parents feels. It's what produces the bedeviling dichotomy that comes from raising kids. One part of you is anxious for them to grow up. The other part fears it is happening much too fast. And this push-me, pull-you parenthood is all the more intensified come Christmas.

I guess that sort of explains why my wife and I got into a minor argument the other night. She had taken the boys to the mall and, on the spur of the moment, stopped to let them sit on Santa's lap and have their pictures taken.

''How could you possibly do that without me being there?'' I demanded. ''Didn't you realize it was the last time they might want to sit on Santa's lap and I missed out on seeing them do it?''

I realized how dumb that sounded the moment I said it. Still, I spent an inordinately long time studying the Polaroid they brought home from the mall. I even pulled out the old ones from previous years. What struck me most was not how much my sons had grown, but the transformation of their expressions while sitting on Santa's lap.

The earliest photos show them tearful and scared. I remember how they both cried and screamed the first time they visited with Santa. In the next shot, they are tentative but smiling. As the annual installments progress, so do their trust and joy.

I looked again at this year's photo. The boys appear a little cocky. No, make that plenty cocky. They are wearing their I-am-on-the-verge-of-really-cutting-loose grins. If the shutter had clicked a second or two later I imagine it might have caught them yanking on Santa's beard or sticking up two fingers behind his head.

That's OK. I'm glad to see that. It means they are confident. It means they trust in the spirit of Christmas. I can't ask for much more. They might not believe in Santa Claus next year, but a far greater belief will stick with them.

That's why those of us who have long since wised up to the Santa myth continue to foster it. We know that beyond the symbol lies the truth. And the truth is that we all should give of ourselves. No questions asked. It is the very essence of humanity. And by giving, especially by giving to children, the message we send is: This world is a good place. There will always be someone you can count on.

Yes, that's Christmas. You must give a little something. You must spread yourself around.